


Reckless

by lightspire



Category: due South
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RayK's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightspire/pseuds/lightspire
Summary: Ray feels like punching Fraser again, but this time he doesn't. Instead, he does something utterly reckless -- and Fraser has some definite Opinions about that.





	Reckless

Fuck this.

Fraser’s all up in my grill and he won’t let me leave and it’s pissing me off.

It’s been a shitty day, and all I want right now is to go home and get plastered but it’s not happening.

The film at eleven: a couple of dust dealers were in the wrong place at the wrong time, namely, next to my car when Fraser and I saw the deal go down. Amateurs.

They ran. We chased. I had to jump Bogart on one of them. My hammer hurts from when the guy’s face ran into my fist.

 I’m sore, tired, still buzzing from the takedown, and the last thing I need is Fraser adding to my load.

 We’re done with the bookings, done with the day. We’re finally alone, heading down the alley towards my car and he starts lecturing me.

He’s giving me the third degree, telling me off for taking too many risks, or something. Hypocrite. I don’t even know, because all I hear is his angry mouth going a mile a minute.

I want to shake him, shout at him, _Fraser, for the love of God, shut the fuck up!,_ but I’m too riled to speak.

My hands are curling into fists and I swear, I’m gonna sock that pretty mouth of his, anything to shut him up because words keep coming out of it.

Except I don’t. I’m not gonna punch him. Never again. Never again will I do that.

Instead I do the dumbest thing I’ve ever done sober in my life, and believe me I’ve done a lot of dumb. I grab his face with both hands and plant my lips on his. Hard. I shove my tongue in there a little too, and that shuts him up good. 

I step back and the look on his face is pure shock. He’s staring at me and his lips are parted just a little, all shiny and wet and I can tell he’s not breathing.

That makes two of us, ‘cause I’m not breathing either.

I suddenly feel sick and dizzy, horrified at the batshit thing I’ve done.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

I’ve crossed the line. Sticking your tongue down a guy’s throat without permission, let alone your partner’s is, well, you just don’t do that. That is not a thing you do. Ever. End of the road. And I’ve got no excuse but my own reckless stupidity.

 _Smooth move, Kowalski, you suck_. 

I’m so embarrassed that all I can think to do is run. I turn my back and I’m out of there.

“Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY!”

Fraser calls after me and I ignore him like I don’t hear. I don’t look back either. God knows what would happen if I did, and frankly, God and I aren’t on speaking terms right now.

I run to the alley where the GTO is parked, yank the car door open, plant my ass in the seat and slam it shut. I pound my fists on the steering wheel and it makes my hand hurt even more but I don’t care. I cram my forehead down on the wheel and stare at my feet, trying not to throw up. All I can hear is the sound of my breathing and my heart pounding in my ears at ninety miles an hour.

Then I realize the pounding isn’t my heart, it’s Fraser, knocking on the driver-side window. I can’t look up at him. My face is hot and I can’t do it, can’t face him.

“Ray,” he taps on the glass again. “We need to talk.” 

No, Fraser, we do _not_ need to talk. I need to die, is all. 

He could just open the door and climb in. It’s not locked. But he doesn’t. He’s being polite, damn him. Angry would be better than polite, because polite means dead, and I don’t want to be dead to him because it would kill me. I don’t want him in the car with me, either, but I can’t just drive off and leave him.

So I raise my head and jerk my chin sideways to let him know I’m cool with him getting in the car. That’s me, cool Kowalski all the way. Pants-pissing, mouth-raping me. He takes his time walking to the passenger side and it’s like watching a slow death march.

In my head I’m going through all the things I should say, like, “I didn’t mean anything by it,” and, “Sorry, that was way out of line, please don’t file sexual assault charges,” but the problem is I did mean it. I’ve daydreamed, night-dreamed, and, hell, even wet-dreamed about kissing him since the day we met but I never wanted it to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

Fraser slides into the passenger seat, takes his hat off and sets it on the dash. He closes the door quietly and I can’t tell if he’s angry or disgusted or what, because I’m looking straight ahead out the windshield, staring at the street in front of me, which I can’t actually see because my eyes are out of focus. 

He just sits there, and I can hear him scratching his eyebrow like he does when he gets nervous. Neither of us is saying anything. I keep expecting him to say _something_ and the silence is agonizing because it means he wants me to talk and I’ve got nothing.

He takes a deep breath and I take a deep breath and we both end up talking at the same time.

“Fraser” / “Ray”

We look at each other, then look away, embarrassed. Fraser tugs at his collar, which means he’s double-nervous. _Shit._

Sometimes I wish I were a woman, or that Fraser was. I don’t mean actually a woman, but like one. They’re better at this, at the talking.

Fraser takes another breath and I spit out my words before he can get his mouth up to speed.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean anything by it,” I lie. “I just needed to you to shut up so I wouldn’t pop you.”

“Ah,” he says. “I see,” which in Canadian means he doesn’t believe a word of it.

He looks disappointed in me. Well, of course he would. I’ve let him down, broken our trust, and it shows all over his face.

“It’s nothing,” I say, and hope he believes me.

“Understood,” he answers. He’s not buying this for a second.

“Okay then.” I nod.

“Right.” Fraser grabs his hat and starts turning it in his hands, fidgeting. Which is queer, because Fraser doesn’t usually fidget. 

“Are we good now?” I ask. The awkwardness between us is tying my stomach in knots.

Fraser doesn’t answer. He’s gone into Polite Mountie mode, which means we’re not good, not good at all.

“Not good, then,” I mutter.

Punching him that one time was the blackest day of my life, but in a way, this is worse. Not only did I humiliate him with that stupid kiss, I betrayed the trust we worked so hard to rebuild.

I realize there’s only one thing I can do to make it right — I have to give him permission to leave. Again. My stomach turns and I feel sick. My heart is breaking and my throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. I talk to the windshield because I still can’t look him in the eye. 

“Look, uh… I was way outta line. I…” My voice is shaking now, “I understand if you want a different partner.”

His head whips around so fast his neck cracks. He stares at me, his face the color of his uniform.

I keep expecting him to say something, anything, but he stays silent, like, he’s really thinking about it, and my chest is squeezing tight and I’m starting to freak out because if he leaves me I don’t know what I’ll do.

“I don’t want a different partner, Ray.”

My shoulders drop, a little, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Maybe he’ll forgive me? Maybe we can just forget it and move on....

“But we can’t ignore what just happened,” he says.

I feel like a bug with a pin stuck in it.

He’s forcing me to confess and I do _not_ want to do that. If I tell him I’m attracted to him, that he drives me insane, that I’m in love with him…what’s a straight-arrow like Fraser supposed to do with that? Better to save the partnership, if I can, so I double down on the lie. 

“I told you. Seemed better than punching you at the time. It didn’t mean anything. Don’t get excited.”

“Hm.” He rubs his eyebrows again and drops his head towards his chest.

This makes no sense.

He’s acting really weird. He should be yelling at me or running away from his scary bi partner who just attacked him, or at least changing the subject with a stupid story, but his body language says sad, not angry.

I don’t get it. 

“Won’t happen again,” I say, hoping that settles it.

“I just wish you’d asked me first,” he says, then he gazes at me with those big blue eyes and he looks totally, completely… heartbroken?

 _Wait, what?_ My mind reels.

“Do what?” I ask, opening and closing my mouth like a dying fish. I’m not at all sure I heard what I think I just heard. I rub my ear just in case.

“Next time, just ask.” He says. His lips are slightly parted and his nostrils flare a little. “It only takes a second to be polite.”

“Ask you to shut up or…?” I can’t say it. _Ask me if it’s ok to kiss me._

“The other thing,” he says, running a hand down the front of his tunic.

The lightbulb goes on. _Oh my God_. I am the worst detective in the world.

Suddenly I’m feeling dizzy again, but this time it’s for a totally different reason. I still can’t get my head around what he’s saying, but I’ve got nothing left to lose so I go for broke. I tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry. And it wasn’t nothing.” _It was real_ _nice_ , _actually_ , I think but don’t say.

He searches my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking for — probably testing to see if I’m being straight with him. Straight. Ha. Honest, maybe, but I’m nowhere near straight and if he didn’t know that before he sure as hell knows it now.

And then he does it. He smiles at me. He smiles and my jaw unclenches and I can breathe again.

“I’m glad it wasn’t nothing,” he says, and puts his hat back up on the dashboard. “I’m flattered, in fact.”

Ok, yeah, that will work. I can go with that. I don’t know what’s going to happen next but at least he doesn’t hate me for kissing him and meaning it, and Fraser not hating me is good.

He slides closer to me on the seat.

My heart skips a beat.

“And I want it to happen again.” He curls his tongue in his teeth.

“When?” I blurt out. Stupid.

“Would now be acceptable?” he asks.

All I can do is nod, because he’s staring at my mouth. He licks his lips a little. _Hell yes, that would be acceptable._ Did I actually say that out loud or are my thoughts just screaming?

I never find out because in the next moment he leans towards me, tilts his head, and I close my eyes because my stomach is full of butterflies.

He cradles my face in his hands and he is so gentle that I feel sick again about how roughly I treated him, how I cheapened our first kiss with my anger. He’s giving me a do-over, a second chance. I don’t deserve it. His breath is warm on my mouth and then his lips are there, touchdown. The kiss is warm and dry, with a hint of slick sweet tongue and my nerves are buzzing like I’ve licked an electrical socket. A sound comes out of me, a little moan I can’t stop.

He ends the kiss and acts like he’s going to pull back but I don’t let him. It’s my turn for a do-over. I put one hand around the back of his neck and slide my thumb across his cheek, trapping him close. I bury my fingers in his hair, and it’s so soft, like I’ve always imagined. I tease his lips with mine, putting as much tenderness into it as I can. _Forgive me, forgive me, I love you_...and hope.

When he goes to pull back this time, I let him. We stare at each other, and it’s like I can read his mind.

 _Of course I forgive you, Ray._ He says it without words. _How could I not?_ I see nothing but love in his eyes and it shakes me to the core.

I didn't know. I didn’t know. How did I miss this? Oh yeah, right: worst detective in the world.

Something snaps and he lunges forward, cups my face with his hands and presses his mouth to mine. He kisses me, rough and insistent, his tongue hard and hot on mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my toes. And then we’re making out like teenagers, panting and sucking and knocking our teeth together. I can feel the stubble around his lips rasping on my skin. I can smell his clean, soapy smell and I’m getting lightheaded because all the blood is rushing south.

My fingers burrow into his tunic and around his back and he grabs my shoulders, makes love to my hair with his hands, slides his palms over my face and neck and arms. He nips my earlobe and starts nuzzling my neck, licking and kissing down my collarbone. His palm slides up over my thigh and I can feel the intense heat of his hand as it moves to the front of my pants. I shift my hips and _sweet Jesus_ he’s rubbing my cock and I’m going out of my mind.

He’s acting like he wants to devour me, and I want him to, but I gather the last of my willpower and pull back. I look at him and arch my eyebrow, asking the unspoken question.

But I already know the answer — I can see it on his face. We can read each other clear as day. I just want to hear him say it.

“Drive.”

—————————-

 I nod and start the car. My heart is singing and my pants are too tight and I’m having trouble watching the road.

He reaches for my right hand and holds it the entire time I’m driving to my place, stroking my palm and interlacing our fingers. I’m grateful for that because my guilt-monkey is climbing up my back and starting to screech into my ear that this is a terrible idea. If Fraser wasn’t holding my hand and I wasn’t as horny as hell, I’d probably slam on the brakes, jump out of the car and run straight into Lake Michigan.

When we get to my apartment I’m shaking and I really, really don’t know if we should be doing this. I nearly drop my keys and it takes me two tries to find the right one before I’ve jammed it into the lock, gone inside and kicked the door shut behind us.

Fraser’s just standing there, looking at me and I can tell he’s wound up tight, cocked like a loaded gun. He’s waiting for me to take the lead and suddenly I’m shy again, folding my arms, looking down, up, anywhere but back at him. My brain’s going a mile a minute. This is not some casual fuck, this is Fraser, my partner, the guy I’ve been fantasizing about since I laid eyes on him. I feel like I did the first time with Stella, all nervousness and heat.

I don’t know whether we should talk or kiss or I should offer him a drink or what, so I start going through the motions like I do every day when I come home. I throw the keys on the table by the door, toss my jacket over the back of the couch, unhook my holster and ankle gun and lay them beside my keys. I unbuckle my boots and stand there in my socks, t-shirt and jeans, wondering if I should keep going with the clothes or hang out here for a while.

Meanwhile Fraser takes off his belt, lanyard, and tunic and lays them carefully on top of my jacket. He kneels down to unlace his boots, which takes awhile but he finally gets them off.

Then he stands up again and checks me out, looking at me like he’s never seen me before and I guess he hasn’t — neither of us has — not in this way. I really hope he likes what he sees, ‘cause he’s staring at me like a hungry animal and I can’t move.

My hands are trembling again and I’m not sure what to do with them. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, trying to act casual, but we both know there’s nothing casual about this situation. We’re lost without a map and even my instincts are failing me.

“You want a drink?” I ask him. I sure could use something about now. A beer, a smoke, a hit — something to take the edge off. I haven’t so much as taken a drag since I became Ray Vecchio but I want a cigarette so badly my fingers itch.

“I didn’t come here to drink,” he says. His voice is low and dangerous and sends a fire right to my dick. In two quick strides he crosses the distance between us and I’m suddenly drowning in Mountie. He wraps his arms around me, pulling us together, chest to hips to toes, and lays one on me with that gorgeous mouth of his.

In an instant we’re at it again, kissing and petting, going hot and heavy. It’s not long before I desperately need to feel more of him against me, under me, on me. I yank his braces down his shoulders, untuck his shirts and slide my hands up over the muscles of his back, feeling them tense and move under my hands as we kiss. He returns the favor and reaches under my T-shirt to dig his fingers into my skin. He radiates heat like a furnace and it burns wherever we touch.

His dick is pressing hard on my thigh so I nudge my knee a little between his legs to get more leverage. I reach down, grab his ass and push my hips forward. He groans into my mouth, and it’s a sound so intoxicating that I do it again, and again. He spins us around and shoves me up against the wall, grinding against me. He breathes even louder in my ear, humming into my neck with each thrust, and I love that it’s me doing this to him, turning the straightlaced Fraser into a wild animal.

He’s getting into it, moving fast and hard, and I’m humping against him through our clothes. I want to get him off, want to do this for him, almost as badly as I want to see him come because of me. I wedge my hand between us to the front of his pants and squeeze. His cock jumps in my hand and he bucks into me. I take that as a yes so I reach for his waistband and undo the button. I’m unzipping the fly when he grabs my wrist tightly and stills it.

“Stop,” he hisses.

I freeze. _Shit_. Too far, too fast? _Shit shit shit_.

But no, wait — he’s showing me he wants something else entirely. He raises my hand to his lips and sucks three of my fingers into his mouth. Fraser’s always got his mouth on things, licking and tasting, and now he’s licking and tasting _me_ and acting like he wants to swallow me whole. Suddenly there’s a very dirty image in my mind of him going down on me and, bang, that’s all I can think of.

He pulls my fingers from his mouth, very slowly, sucking and licking the entire time. He kisses the tips, inhaling the scent of his own spit on my skin, and there is nothing remotely polite about it. His pupils are so dilated that I can tell he’s thinking the same thing I am. I swallow.

He reaches for my fly, which is so tight now it hurts, and I give him a nod. _Yes. Dear God, yes._

I whip off my t-shirt while he’s unbuttoning me then his shirts are off and I’m backing him towards the bedroom, luring him with big wet kisses, because I want to do this right. I haven’t done this with a guy in a long, long time and I’m not sure Fraser’s done this with a guy ever, and I don’t want him getting spooked. As hard and desperate as I am, I want to take it slow, make sure he’s okay with it.

A few seconds later and we’re both down to our briefs, me in my grays and him in his starched white boxers and I’m wondering how that can possibly be comfortable when I get totally distracted by his tongue again. He’s on my mouth, then kissing and licking my jaw, my neck, my tattoo, down the front of my chest. When he lands a bite on my nipple I shout, and he stops.

“It’s good,” I reassure him, “that’s good,” and he does it again to the other one. Then he’s trailing his lips down my stomach and hip bones, all the while teasing and gripping my cock with his hands through the cloth. He’s on his knees now, and then, _holy shit_ he kisses the wet spot on the front of my briefs, and I twitch into his mouth. Next thing I know, _Jesus Christ,_ he’s grabbed the tip with his lips and is tonguing it through the fabric.

I feel his hands slip into my waistband and slide the briefs off my thighs. The cold air hits my skin just as his warm lips do and _oh sweet Jesus_. He’s got a hand around my cock and the other one on my ass and his lips are on the tip and _oh God,_ he does seem to know what he’s doing, either that or he’s making it up as he goes along and _holy fuck_ he takes me into his mouth and sucks hard and my brain goes to static. 

All kinds of noises are coming out of my throat now, and my hands are in his soft, soft hair, stroking and tugging and rubbing my fingers through it. I feel his tongue move up and down the shaft, exploring and tasting me. Then he’s sucking again, moving his mouth and his hands and he’s making me leak and moan. My need to come is growing to a hot white point and I’m trying not to thrust into his mouth. Somehow he senses this and pulls me forward, then back, until he’s fucking himself with my dick in his mouth and _God, yes, do me, do me, yes, like that, just like that._ I look down to watch him making love to me and he’s so gorgeous and sexy and _fuck_ , I can’t hold back much longer. I want to come, I fucking need to come, but I’m not sure I should and then suddenly he sucks hard, pulling me to him and I’m jerking and shuddering and calling out and my knees are buckling. I spill into his throat and he’s letting me, _Christ_ , he’s letting me, and he swallows it all down.

I finish and he’s off me now, wiping his lips with the side of his hand and pushing me back onto the bed with the smuggest expression I’ve ever seen — and with Fraser, that is saying something. I pull him on top of me and thrust my tongue into his mouth because I want to wipe that look off his face and taste myself on his swollen red lips.

He weighs a ton, all solid muscle and heat, like a big warm Fraser-shaped blanket. I just want to lie here in a daze like this all night, but the hard cock pressing against my hip reminds me that my job’s not finished.

He props himself up on his forearms and studies my face. “You’re beautiful when you orgasm,” he says, and I can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh,” he nods. “The debauched and ravaged look suits you.” I grin bigger.

I shove his boxers off him and reach for his cock. It’s hot and throbbing and uncut, which is new to me but I’ll figure it out.

“Wonder what you look like debauched?” I ask, arching an eyebrow and giving him the most lascivious look I can muster.

He lets out a combination of a laugh and a growl, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. He looks at me expectantly, and I get the sense that he doesn’t quite know what to do next but he’s open to suggestions.

I decide to take it slow, help him work up to the big stuff. I reach into my nightstand and pull out a tube of lube. I warm some up in my hand and rub it on him, and he pushes into my grip but I cup my palm over the tip and stop him. I take another handful and rub it around my front and between my thighs, then pull him down to slide between them and he hums with pleasure. He gets it — always was a quick study.

He starts thrusting, sliding, moving between my clenched thighs, and I’m holding him tight, my hands clutching his backside and giving him as much friction as he wants. I like this because he’s looking at me and I want to see his face when he comes. It doesn’t take long. He pants and moans and thrusts, faster and faster and I can tell he’s about to go when he closes his eyes. 

“Open your eyes,” I demand, “Look at me,” and he does. His eyes turn jet black as he lets out a guttural sound and explodes between my thighs, slick and hot and jerking his hips hard, whispering my name. I knew he’d be gorgeous but he’s so beautiful it hurts. I drink it in, this wild thing that lives inside the starched Mountie. I hold him and love him through it until he’s lying panting and spent on top of me. I stroke his hair, trace my fingers over his back and lie there in disbelief. He’s mine. He’s really mine and I don’t want the spell to break.

Moments later he rolls himself off me, looking thoroughly fucked and happy. “Sorry about the sheets,” he says, a sheepish expression on his face.

“You’re too polite for your own good,” I say, and smack him on his firm, beautiful ass. He smirks, gets up and heads for the can. I watch him go and pinch myself at my good luck.

He’s in the shower and the bathroom’s all steamy. I give him a minute before wandering in there. I’m not sure if he’s one of those people who needs privacy right after sex, or more sex after sex.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask.

“As you wish,” he says.

I’m still not sure which he is, but he doesn’t say no, so I get in the shower with him. We soap each other up and feel the warm water running over us and pretty soon we’re kissing and sliding our bodies together, hot and bothered again. Then we’re jacking each other off with the soap and it’s all I can do not to fall down, my knees are so weak. I’m about to slip but he catches me and keeps me safe. Like he always does, even when he’s endangering my life in wildly bizarre ways. 

We towel off and I strip the wet sheet from the bed, then we collapse, exhausted, onto the mattress. I pull a blanket over us. We lie there tangled together in a post-sex haze, and I’m so happy my heart feels like it might explode.

“Fraser. Uh...Ben.” I roll his name around in my mouth and find I like the taste, so I say it again. “Ben.”

“Yes, Ray?”

“I…” I’m stumbling over the words but I don’t know why. We’ve just fucked each other senseless so this should be easy, especially with him, but it isn’t. I guess it’s never easy to bare your soul.

“I love you.”

“And I love you, Ray.” He says it without hesitation and holds me tighter. His voice is soft and the look in his eyes lets me know he means it, and not just symbolically.

And with those words, I’ve finally figured something out about him — I’d bet a week’s salary he’s never had a casual fuck in his life. He’s a love first, screw later kind of guy. The gender of his target isn’t the main driver for him. Love is what matters. The insight hits me like a ton of bricks.

I should have seen it, how he felt about me. Correction: I did see it, I had a hunch — the mother of all hunches, to be honest, but I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe that Mr. Perfect Mountie could ever be interested in a guy, let alone in love with a soul-damaged, skinny Polack guy with experimental hair. But he’s not perfect, never was, and neither am I, so I guess it kind of works. I hope to God it works, because I want this to last forever.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking it over. “I’m not sure. I didn’t know I could love another man, until you came along.” He gives me a look that melts me to the bone and I’m so captivated that I almost miss it. _Another_ _man_ — which means — well. We can talk about that later.

“When did…?” He starts to ask, but his voice cracks.

He can’t say it. He can’t get the words out. Like he can’t believe I actually love him, or that anyone truly could. It breaks my heart.

“Since I clapped eyes on you. It was love at first sight.”

“Really?” Ben’s eyes go wide.

“Yeah, really, you big moron. I don’t take bullets for just anyone.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” he pulls back to study my face.

“I didn’t think it would be a good idea. Lusting after your partner isn’t kosher, you know?”

“I know.” He looks serious. “This isn’t just about carnal desires, though. Is it?” Now he looks worried.

“God, no,” I reply. He still doesn’t get it. “You still don’t get it,” I say. “I love you. Even the really annoying parts.” He chuckles at that, and I pause. I need him to understand. “I don’t know who I’d be without you.” 

“Oh.” He’s blushing now. I want him to say the same kind of stuff back but I don’t push it. He’ll get there, in time. I imagine once he starts talking he’ll never shut up and I’m good with that. Looking forward to it, even.

“Are we okay?” I ask. “This, I mean.”

“We’re okay, Ray,” he says, and kisses me. “We’re more than okay. We’re partners.”

Partners. When Ben commits to something he never lets go — it’s not in his nature. It’s sobering, and deeply humbling to realize this, what it means, the weight of the gift he’s given me, and the risk we’re both taking. He’s trusting me not to leave him, not to betray him, not to hurt him like everyone else in his life has.

In that moment I make a silent vow: I swear to heaven that I won’t be reckless with his heart, never again. Never ever.

“Partners,” I say. And I mean it.

 

The Beginning.

 

 


End file.
